It was, surprisingly, a lot of waiting. You would have thought it would be far more exciting. These were big rock stars—or, at least, they were on their way to becoming big rock stars—where was the booze, the drugs, the girls? Well—Bear had the girls covered. And there was booze, and they did get drunk a few times after the show, but it wasn’t a constant or even a usual thing. Drugs I never saw—although I did hear Chelsea tell Dale once they were available upon request.
The best part of being on the road, for me, besides being with Dale, which was a given, was having front row seats to every show. And it never got old. I asked Dale if he ever got bored, playing the same songs over and over every night and he looked at me like I’d just sprouted three heads and was speaking Latin. I’d only asked because you would think it would get boring—but it didn’t. The time between shows got boring sometimes, but never the shows themselves. They were the whole reason for all the miles, all the tunnels, all the hotels, all the waiting. The shows and the fans. And as excited as I knew the fans were—I remembered being one—for the guys in Black Diamond, it was like Christmas every night they got to go on stage.
New York was no exception, although there was a little more excitement in the air because for most of us, this was home—or close enough to it. I woke up tired to the sound of Chelsea’s voice as she opened the door and stuck her head into the bus. We’d been rolling the last time I remembered, the miles ticking by on smooth asphalt in the dark, the wheels on the bus, round and round like that kids’ song, a lullaby that finally put me to sleep.
Dale was gone—so it was already a bad day. He’d taken to waking up early on the road, putting on a pair of headphones, strapping on his walkman, and going for a run. He’d never been a runner before, but he said it cleared his head in the morning. And that was a new thing too. Dale was not a morning guy. He and sunshine didn’t get along.
“Team meeting in half an hour!” Chelsea called. “Rise and shine, gentlemen and ladies! Whatever it was, you’ve had enough time to sleep it off, if not, too bad. This is your only notice before I come in with a bowl of ice water!”
I put my head back down on the pillow, looking at my little map and thinking about Dale. We spent most of our time together, except when he was on stage. Even during radio interviews, I went with him and watched. I couldn’t begrudge him time alone. I just hated it because I didn’t like being alone with my own thoughts. But that was my problem, not his.
I heard Pixie and Bear talking. Someone was in the bathroom—likely Rick, who liked to shower before everyone. Terry and his smoker’s cough were awake. I closed my eyes and drifted back to sleep. I had plenty I didn’t want to think about when I was conscious—and I did a pretty good job of avoiding it too. But my subconscious didn’t play by the rules.
I woke up from a dream, screaming.
In the dream, the stepbeast had found me. He’d kidnapped me, duct taping my hands together, feet too. At first I was in the trunk of a car. Then he took me out and I could breathe. It felt so good to suck in the night air, even if the piece of duct tape he tore off my mouth hurt like hell. In the dream, I was crying, begging him. He didn’t say anything. He just kicked me and I fell. Like Alice down a hole, I fell and fell and then THUD, I hit the ground. Then he was filling the hole with dirt. He was burying me alive. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move.
When I woke up in the enclosed space of our little bed, I screamed. For a minute I couldn’t tell what was dream and what was reality. And everyone came running. Pixie got there first, yanking my curtain aside, her dark eyes wide. I grabbed the blanket, pulling it up to my chin. I didn’t usually sleep naked, but last night, after sex, I hadn’t put my t-shirt back on. I hadn’t wanted to disturb Dale.
“Are you okay?” Pixie asked.
“Someone being murdered in here?” Chelsea. “Who was that?”
“Sara,” Bear told her.
“Bad dream,” I whispered, swallowing hard as more people appeared. Chelsea and Bear, frowning and looking in at me. Rick, his hair wet, appearing on the other side. Then Terry with his morning cigarette, blowing smoke out the side of his mouth. The gang was all there. Except Dale—and he was the one I wanted.
“Just a bad dream.” My voice was stronger now. The dream was fading. “Sorry guys.”
That was our excitement for the morning.
I went to take a shower. I’d seen the inside of Dark Wing’s tour bus and it was far more luxurious than ours—but for a bus, I couldn’t complain. Our shower door was glass and there was a massaging showerhead. I washed my hair, massaging my scalp like I could scrub the dream out of my head. It mostly worked. By the time I was out, dried off and dressed, most of the dream had dissipated, leaving only a lingering feeling of dread.
The crew meeting assembled outside. The busses parked together, configuring a large square in the middle, leaving only a narrow space in or out—Bear had to squeeze—guarded by security. Sure, a fan could slip underneath one of the busses, but we were in a segregated parking lot on venue property. They’d have a hard time finding us in the first place. They stayed that way until we had to leave and we could go hang in the square—we called it the square—whenever we felt like some down time outside without any danger of being swarmed by a mass of fans. It was quite ingenious really, the busses all snuggled up like that. It gave us all a sense or feeling of safety, and I think Chelsea knew it.
She was one smart cookie.
Dale squeezed in just as the meeting was starting. We made a big circle, either standing or sitting, while Chelsea went over the day’s schedule and plan. Dark Wing didn’t have to attend morning meetings. Technically, the opening band didn’t either, but we spent so much more time with the crew, we kind of felt like one big family, so we went.
I spotted Dale sneaking around the circle, making his way toward me. He wrapped his arms around me from behind. I could smell him, that musky scent of sweat, and it reminded me of the night before. His shirt was damp and I could hear Nirvana still playing over his headphones. They were down around his neck.
“Some day we’re going to be in the big bus,” he whispered. “We’ll have our own private jet. We won’t have to listen to Bear getting laid.”
I giggled at that, then sobered quickly when Chelsea glanced my way.
“We won’t have to attend meetings.”
I shrugged, whispering back, “I kind of like the meetings.”
“Weirdo.” He pulled my hair aside, nuzzling the back of my neck. “I heard you had a bad dream.”
I stiffened. News traveled fast!
“I’m fine.”
“Don’t want to tell me?”
I shook my head, shushing him.